Moving On
by team.aaf
Summary: AU 5. Continuing on from the overpass rescue in 'Autonomy'. Emotional problems are resolved. Set January 2060. Rated K Plus.
1. Suggestions

**This is the separate part of the story that I said didn't fit into Autonomy for some reason. It's short, just one other part to come I think. This is set between the boys heading home and the funeral. If you haven't read my other story, I would suggest you do, just for understanding of what is going on here.  
**

**The K+ rating is based on the inclusion of some mild coarse language. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds (they belong to someone who is not me, I don't actually know who it is now) and I am not making any money from this story. None of the characters are intended to portray any living or dead person and any similarities are entirely coincidental.**

**This disclaimer applies to all chapters posted for this story. **

**1. Suggestions**

Some days, when life started to get bored with running smoothly, it'd throw a spanner into the works. However, _today_, it'd exceeded itself, and thrown the whole damn toolbox in.

For the eldest Tracy son, the tropical, leafy-green paradise that was Tracy Island was just coming into view, a rapidly growing pinprick on the horizon. After everything that had shook itself out back in South Dakota, Scott had decided to fly back home alongside his brother; just for support and all.

He'd had an interesting conversation with their father after the VTOL jets had powered both Thunderbirds into the gem-sparkling, blue sky. Needing to call in with ETA's and other important information, Scott had failed to find any other reason for why he was flying escort, except for the truth.

"Wait just a moment, Scott, let me get this straight. No misunderstandings. You've allowed your brother to fly home, when he's busy dealing with an event that has extreme, emotional consequences?"

Feeling more than a little abashed, but trying not to look it, the young pilot had answered his powerful father, trying to stare him down as best he could, through a small, smart glass video feed.

"Well, yes, sir." No matter how well his father had chosen his words to shed the worst light, in all honesty he was right. Scott wasn't about to completely back down though. "However, Virgil seemed to be perfectly capable of piloting, and I trust his judgement. Otherwise I would have insisted on Brains flying back."

"I admire your loyalty somewhat, Son, but if you felt Virgil was 'perfectly capable of piloting' would you really be flying only just ahead?"

And there, his father had got it; hook, line and sinker.

Scott had let Virgil fly because it was easier than arguing, and besides, he hadn't seemed _that_ distracted, or anything. Focused enough to get home at any rate.

The journey back wasn't a long one, even at what Thunderbird One would have called the stately, pedestrian pace of it's larger sister; and by this point in the conversation they'd been just flying out of United States of America water space, an excuse Scott had made to kill the conversation.

He maintained radio silence for as long as he could. Knowing that if he put a call into his younger brother, Virgil would think he was checking-up on him, and that if he called in to home, the inquisition would start all over.

There was, however, only so long he could put off landing protocol, and eventually had to use the comm. device to state his intentions to get back on terra firma.

And so, with the Island's largest pool now draining of water, as he continued to rocket towards home, Scott began adjusting settings to allow for the switch to vertical flight, and the painful debriefing he knew was coming.

_Tracy Island, Jeff Tracy's office, continuing on;_

Yet again, the world found Jeff Tracy standing at the window, beside the noticeably over watered pot plant. Just out on the horizon, he could see two dark specks, growing in size. His sons.

Watching the magnificent, fresh, reasonably (considering they had just left a rescue zone) shiny crafts, which he had been responsible for the inception and construction of, land, was something the self-made businessman never tired of.

Calling up Kyrano and asking him to watch the data flows, and yell if there was a problem (not that Jeff had ever heard the retainer raise his voice), he turned away from the panoramic view, and headed out for the balcony to observe the aircrafts set down. Upon notification of Scott's imminent arrival, he had set the cogs in motion, to drain the four hundred and eight cubic metre capacity pool, and to have it dragged out of the way of the landing silver arrow, leaving only the blast-shield protected face of the swimming pool next to the housing silo.

The pinprick in the sky was growing larger by the second – if Jeff had wanted to, he could have held out his hand and his smallest fingertip would have only just covered the craft.

Leaning casually on the balcony wall, the Tracy family patriarch watched as his eldest son flew in over the island, slowed and held a hover, high up in the cloudless air, before twisting his plane about on it's axis and slowly descending down into the silo deep in the island. Okay, so the computer made a lot of trim-adjustments, but there was no denying Scott's ability as a pilot.

He definitely took after his father, and _even_, Jeff had reluctantly conceded some time ago, surpassed his parent's skill in the air.

As Thunderbird One sank below the retracted pool, the air filled with the thunderous roar of it's sister ship, who was just making it home too.

Jeff turned to rest upon the far side of the balcony now, and watched as the giant, green behemoth slowed to almost stalling speeds, and his middle son, distraught or not, clearly emptied his mind, and floated the flying beast down gently onto the short runway, and stopped with plenty of room between the stubby nose and the soon-to-be-open cliff face.

Heading back inside to the office, he would ensure that the hanger opened, and then Virgil would drift Two in, and turn it about, ready to launch again if needed.

And there, the _simple_ resolution of the just-finished-rescue ended; to come was explanations and probably a fair few angry comments.

_Thunderbird Two's silo, Tracy Island;_

Virgil shut down the generators of his Thunderbird through the buzzing control panels, whilst Brains leant over a different array of screens, his PDA linked up to the system, downloading the telemetry and data from the aircraft, ready for analysis and evaluation later.

Behind them, the cockpit door hissed open, sliding back on it's runners, revealing a tired figure.

"You guys need any help?"

Virgil looked up from where he had moved on to completing the electronic flight log, half of the illuminated fields filled in, half still empty and waiting input.

"Scott? What are you doing here?"

Gesturing widely around the cockpit, he replied,

"Offering help."

"Oh." Virgil then turned back to where he had been previously focusing, settling back in the pilot's seat. "We're fine, Scott. Shouldn't you be filling in your flight data?"

"Done. Mine was a lot simpler, seeing as One only took two flights. Plus I've had much more practice."

The middle son was normally slow to temper, but his emotions had been taken out the figurative box and played with a little too much in the past twenty-four hours, and he had failed to recognise the signs that something was bothering Scott too; his artistic soul as a rule was good with understanding and valuing other's feelings.

"Hell, Scott, I can do a flight log. I'm not about to break apart. Life dumps on people a lot, so you deal with it. Okay? I'm dealing with it. Move on."

"I was just offering a hand, Virge. I wasn't suggesting you needed help because you were incapable."

"Yeah? Well it sure sounded like it."

The younger sibling didn't even turn around to look at his older brother, continuing to focus on the smart-glass windscreen programme. Instead Scott gave Brains a quick glance, who appeared to be busying himself with something else, in order to try and ignore the Tracys, and then walked over to the chair Virgil was sat in.

Half sitting, half leaning against a console to the left of Virgil, Scott tried again, his voice much lower and quieter.

"Virge, look, I don't know what went on in the bus, and I'm not going to pretend I understand, unless you try and help me. Dad's been chewing _me_ out though, about the whole thing, and I've got no answers. Not unless you talk to me."

Not troubling to keep his voice down, the pilot of Thunderbird Two looked up at Scott.

"So that's what this is about. Dad's yelling at you, and you need someone to bale you out, or to turn to, or whatever. Well count me out, Scott. I've had a lifetime of listening to your problems, and right now, I don't need to hear it."

Nearly shouting now, Scott replied,

"No. That's not what I wanted. I wanted to help you, but hey, you know what, Virgil? If you're going to be such a jack-ass, I'll leave you to it."

And then he stormed out, leaving the cockpit via a punched release button for the door, and heavily, stomped footsteps.

Still fuming, Virgil made a few last keystrokes, and shut the programme he was working down with a secure code.

"You done, Brains?"

Pale, skinny and uncomfortable with the raging exchange he'd just been witness to; the engineer merely nodded in reply, disconnected his PDA, and straightened up as much as he ever did.

Virgil held out an upturned palm towards the door through which his elder brother had just left, suggesting the architect-slash-inventor was to lead the way out. Not wanting to be the next subject of the middle son's angry blow up, Brains followed the indication and exited the craft.

_Virgil Tracy's rooms, later on the same day;_

Each son had been given the chance to choose the decorations of his own room. Gordon had painted his shades of azure, cobalt and turquoise; John had masked the ceiling black, and illustrated the surface with the stars, each carefully, painstakingly, accurately positioned in relation to each other.

Virgil, however, had just asked for his rooms to be left white. From there he had slowly been building up colours, each part of the walls meaning something different and disarmingly personal.

Blocks of colours were his moods and most of the walls; lime and yellow when everything had seemed to be okay, black and purple when things had begun to get out of hand. Interspersed between, murals of images important to Virgil were placed. The centrepiece was a portrait of himself and his four brothers, taken from a photograph captured some years ago, when the family had first visited the island.

Fragmented around were other family images, his brothers alone, doing what they loved, and landscapes and buildings he'd been awed, humbled by. Then tucked away in a corner, behind the chest of drawers beside his bed, a final portrait – one that was never meant to be seen by anyone else, considering all that she'd done to the family.

His mother.

It was to this painting that Virgil rushed into his room to. Pushing away the furniture, he practically hurled himself to the floor in front of it, and thought.

It'd crossed his mind to call her, ask to come and stay for a few days. Nevertheless, sitting before the self-created image of his mother, Virgil realised that he'd never wanted to hurt Scott like he already had today, and to call the person his older brother felt had abandoned the whole family would just cause more pain.

With a long sigh, he re-took his feet, replaced the chest of drawers, and headed off to his washrooms. After he'd go and see Scott.

_Around Tracy Villa, same time;_

Incensed and ablaze, Scott stalked through the villa, leaving doors to slide or slam closed in his wake.

Following the sounds of devastation, and the noisy passage, Jeff sought to hunt down his son, and (before the debriefing with Virgil present) give him a piece of his mind. Rounding the corner to face Scott, though, the words burnt down and died as the man before him stiffened and stopped.

He cleared his throat quietly,

"Scott?"

He'd not always been the perfect father, and had spent much too large an amount of his time at the office in past years, but Jefferson Tracy had and _was_ trying to make it up to his children, and learn to understand them.

Looking up, Scott simply hunched over a little more, but his face cleared slightly.

"Father?"

"Are you okay, Son?" A large, well-weathered hand briefly clasped down on his shoulder, but Scott squirmed away; something he hadn't done since he'd left single figured ages.

"I'm fine. I was just going to clean up, Father."

Knowing he should investigate further, but without the knowledge of how to attempt it, Jeff backed down.

"Of course. Kyrano's preparing some food for you and your brother, and then we'll have a meeting in my office."

"Yes, Father."

From there, they made their separate ways, Jeff's determination as hard as a craggy cliff side, Scott's disillusionment growing stronger with each passing moment.


	2. Follow Up

**Told you this one would be short. Just filling in a few missing details really. **

**2. Follow Up**

Having washed and changed, Scott Tracy stood out on his room's balcony, leaning against the metallic top bar of the framing.

It was still afternoon on Tracy Island, with the sun blistering, fiery yellow in the sky; a stark contrast from the dark hours twilight that he had left it in. His mood was rather different too.

A quiet, broken tapping at his door brought the eldest Tracy son out of his personal scrutiny, and Scott headed over to key open the sliding panel, already knowing really, whom he'd find.

The reason for their visit though was much more open; all bets off.

As the white door shifted and moved over, it revealed Virgil Tracy (as Scott had always known it would); hands thrust deep into pockets of his beige shorts, a t-shirt haphazardly thrown on, his hair mussed and head down.

"Hey?" Virgil looked up, brown eyes filled with a strange mix of emotions, clearly unsure.

"You'd better come in."

Scott stepped back, allowing entry, and then closing the door again, headed back out to the sun-baked balcony, leaving his brother to follow behind.

Outside he re-took his leaning position against the barrier, but Virgil deflated, flopped to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest.

"I didn't…" the young International Rescue pilot swallowed and took a lungful of air in, before trying again. "I didn't mean to snap, back, before. I don't want to leave things in a bad state between us either."

"I was just trying to help, Virge." Scott sighed before sliding down the framework to sit on the floor beside his brother, legs stretched out in front of him.

"I know. It's just, everyone keeps asking if I'm okay, but like I said before, I'm still here. What about his _family_, huh? Someone's going to go around Leo's house tonight; maybe they're already there… See, then his mom will answer the door, and someone's going to tell her that her son is dead. Then trying asking her if she's okay."

Silence hung thickly in the humid, ocean-laced air for a while, before Scott slipped around so that he could look his brother in the eye.

"She will be. She'll understand, _and_ be proud when they tell her what he died doing. He died to save a stranger… the bravest thing I can imagine."

Virgil stared blankly, not understanding.

"Bravest?"

"It's not hard to run into the line of fire for family, and friends. It's takes courage, but you do it because they mean so much to you. To take the shot for someone you don't know, though… that's amazing. To be able to understand that they mean a lot to their family as well, and to forfeit your safety to ensure theirs… Virgil, if I had to die tomorrow, I'd want it to be for something worthwhile. I'd want to know I made a difference to someone, somewhere." He paused, and years later, remembering this conversation, Virgil would wonder if it had been coincidence or for dramatic effect. Either way, it planted seeds in his mind, started the road to understanding. "Leo did."

"We're doing the same, aren't we? Risking ourselves, to help others?"

Scott seemed to struggle with words then, choking on them before they could force their bitter, burnt-ash-and-cinder tasting way out.

"Yeah."

Concerns welled up inside him again, the same as when their father had first proposed the whole idea, but Scott pushed them down inside – yet again, it was not the time to be worrying about them, worrying about just what he had allowed his brothers to step into. His fears were beginning to come true anyway; it was almost too late to stop them.

"I guess it's like all the people that get remembered for doing good stuff."

It was Scott's turn to feel stumped and nonplussed.

"I mean, the normal, everyday people, that get remembered as heroes, are those that die to save other people, in what seems like a hopeless situation, right? They give their lives for strangers."

"Uh-huh. That's what I meant, Virge. His family'll understand in time. Be heart-pounding, lost for words proud, as well."

"Still… It's not fair, Scott."

Virgil once again looked like the lost, doubting, confused boy he'd been when their mother had left, and Scott hated not knowing what more he could say to comfort the terribly bewildered teen.

Instead he placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze, accompanied with a tight smile.

"It'll be alright."

Brown eyes bore deep into his older brother then, seeking the truth behind the words.

"You promise?"

Even then, three quarters grown-up and very nearly men, Virgil sought the reassurance of his eldest sibling. Strange thing to ask really. Scott could guarantee and swear to that as much as he could promise the open skies and orbiting, muddy earth to someone. However,

"I promise."

And the two brothers sat together, a still hush settling over them for a while, before Kyrano knocked calmly at the door to announce early-dinner was prepared. Neither was aware of how their quiet, private conversation had drifted down to a single figure on the patio below.

_Tracy Island flower garden, after dinner;_

Sweet smelling petals filled the area that was so beautiful in the sunlight that it almost physically hurt to look at. It was Kyrano's second most stunning, pride and joy, too. After TinTin that was.

Currently it was home to two people. One of them was tending to his flowers, pruning, and petting, whilst the other stood awkwardly, uncharacteristically fiddling with the ring on his finger that he still wore, trying to explain just what he needed help with.

Standing up to admire the dendrobium orchids he'd been tending to, Kyrano spoke for the first time.

"Indeed, sir. I can understand your problem."

"I just, don't want Virgil to think I'm prying. _But_ I really think he might need something more than a pep-talk from Scott."

Leaning down to pull up a stray weed, before it could properly take root, and allow more than just it's first leafy-green head to surface, said Kyrano,

"Then maybe you should consider what else Mister Virgil is in need of, sir."

"That's the problem. I don't know. Maybe he just needs to time, and someone to talk to. I'm unsure if Scott will be enough though. I doubt he'll talk much to me about it, regretfully I fear I've not been around enough in the past for him to trust me. Would you speak with him?"

Now turning to face Jeff, the manservant answered, gently steering his long-time friend back towards the dusty track he should be on.

"Of course. If you would be happier if I were to speak with Mister Virgil, I would be delighted to, sir. However, I was more thinking of something that could offer a little more… closure?"

Raising his eyebrows slightly first, Jeff frowned.

"Closure? I don't understand what you mean, Kyrano?"

Returning to his plants, as much was his way, the retainer paused for a moment.

"When a friend, acquaintance, passes on, normally one would attend a funeral, sir."

"It's not very practical though. I mean, how would we explain his appearance at a very family-focused event?"

"Maybe you would not have to, Mr. Tracy."

"How-so?"

Jeff was now begin to form an idea in his own head, but wanted further confirmation that he was actually heading off down the right pathway; he'd made enough wrong turns before.

"I believe, if I am not mistaken, that you already know the answer, sir."

Smiling a little, Jeff Tracy nodded, and thanked his friend for the advice. Indeed, with Kyrano's cryptic but always cherished and useful help, the father of five still growing and maturing sons knew what needed to be done. Finally he felt like he was beginning to live as the man he'd forever wanted to be to his boys.

_Jeff Tracy's office, end of the debriefing, a little later;_

"Alright, boys. Now we know the problems we can work through them to ensure a more effective, better operation next time. A more permanent base for Scott to coordinate from is a key matter we need to deal with straight away, as is a further discussion on launching procedure. Right now, I'm very much agreeing with the point Brains brought up about spending just a little more time planning out the rescues _here_, before flying out. It'll also allow for a more professional front to the organisation."

Jeff Tracy was sat behind his one-of-a-kind, beech wood desk, with a pile of hand-written notes on the desk in front of him, inky drawings and scribbles marring the white pages. Before him Scott, Virgil and Brains sat on couches and chairs, from where they had been recounting the rescue, stopping to highlight issues that had been raised and to bludgeon out plans and new measures.

Brains had spent the meeting keying reminders into his PDA. When they were finished he'd take them into the modern, scientific facilities below the main villa to begin work on immediately.

Despite worries about nasty, vicious turns the debriefing might have taken (all things considered), it had gone smoothly. There'd been few arguments, and all had been more similar to good-natured debating, than cage-fight, brawls.

"Well then, I think that just about concludes things for now. If there are any more queries I'll let whoever it concerns know, and we can always re-band if needs be."

With the subtle dismissal hinted at through their father/employer's words the three men stood.

Still fiddling with the thin, grey, plastic stylus of his handheld device, Brains murmured,

"I… I'll, ah, be h… heading down to the labs if I… I'm needed. I want t… to begin, ah, drawing up p… plans for a central u… unit for rescues."

And then the young, fidgety genius left the office at a hurried pace, ideas already beginning to mill around in his head, itching to reach paper.

"I was thinking of heading down to the pool for a, ah, lemonade before hitting my rooms. You want to join me, Virge?"

Scott looked over to his second oldest brother who had been edging carefully towards the door, hoping not to get called back to speak with his formidable father.

"Yeah. Sounds like a plan."

However, the arrangement and game plan was destroyed as Jeff spoke again.

"Actually, I was hoping I might be able to have a word with you, Virgil?" Then with a meaningful glance in his eldest son's direction, "Alone."

Casting his eyes over to Scott, who shrugged almost imperceptibly, Virgil nodded.

"I'll be outside when you're done."

"Thank you, Scott. Close the door on your way out, would you?"

The ex-fighter pilot obliged as he left, whilst Jeff signalled for Virgil to take a seat on the couch. Then, abruptly, and much to the young man's astonishment, his father got up from behind his desk, and went to sit on a chair closer to his son.

"I've been doing some thinking, Virgil, and I understand that this first rescue must have been very hard on you especially."

Tensing up, like a lion ready to leap and attack, Virgil blurted out,

"I'm fine, if that's what you were going to ask. I've spoken to Scott."

Raising his eyebrows slightly, but near enough controlling his facial expression, not betraying his surprise, Jeff continued, fingers once more finding the gold band on his hand.

"Well, I was going to ask that, but there was something more I wanted to speak with you about."

His son frowned then – he'd never quite managed to master a poker face, his emotions ran too close to the surface, as did his youngest brother's.

"I thought you might like to go to Leonard Clark's funeral."

"But… I thought… Wouldn't that compromise security?"

The artist and musician could barely keep what had become wondering hope so swiftly, out of his voice.

"Well, there'd be conditions. John has a couple of weeks holiday due to him, and if he agrees, I'd ask him to meet you at the airport and accompany you. However, the pair of you would need to remain out of sight. No risks taken. Just standing back and observing."

Virgil nodded slightly.

"I thought it might offer you a little… closure, maybe?"

"It would. Thank-you."

Standing to show that this time his middle son really could leave, Jeff kind of, half smiled.

"I think you'd better go and find Scott then."

The brown-haired mirror of his father stood then, and relatively bounced from the room. Looking for the entire world like a leaden weight had been lifted, he disappeared out the door and round the corner towards the pool.

Scott had been right. Things would be okay in the end. Then again, he _was_ never wrong.


End file.
